Successor
by xX-ChildOfTheShadows-Xx
Summary: Voldemort is dead and the wizarding world is free, but Draco still has a mission that no-one knows he has. When the effects of his burden start to show, only one person notices how unhinged he's become. Rated T for course language.


**Authors Note:** Hey, guys! So this is my first fic and I'm really nervous about it. Yes, I do understand that it's a slow start, but the story needs to be explained before I get into the Dramione stuff. A huge shout out to my beta StarKidBeach;D

Read and review! Xx Shadow

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I don't own any of these characters. They spout from the genius of J.K. Rowling, so I'm only borrowing her characters:P

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Unwanted Request<strong>

**A/N:** Set at the end of HBP (Pre-Deathly Hallows)

I could feel the god-awful scales on my legs. Horrible, hard, cold scales that grazed my skin as the boa around my feet shifted and constricted. I barely contained the wave of revulsion that wracked my body as its serpentine form scaled my body, ending up around my shoulders with its head resting on my own. The bloody creature weighed far more that I believed physically possible for such a worm of an animal, but I couldn't buckle under the burden. It wasn't allowed, wasn't permitted, wasn't heard of. If I flinched like a 'pathetic muggle', I would just bring more shame to my family. Shaming the family once was one time too much; my father's beatings have told that much.

After failing to murder the muggle-loving old coot and having Snape carry out the duty instead, my father has never been more terrifying. He and mother fight all the time now. Loudly. _Abusively_. But there's nothing I can do to save her from his wrath. If I entered within striking distance of my father, he would lash out like I was carrying the plague. I hate him so much. The only reason I haven't killed him myself is because, somehow, my mother still loves him. But the second that her feelings recede, I'll make him regret ever touching her. I still can't believe how different things are. We used to have faith and trust in each other. But the trust is crumbling. The regal, pureblood Malfoy family is falling apart at the seams.

To be honest, I'm relieved that I screwed up my task; that I didn't kill Dumbledore (Not that I'd ever tell anyone). Don't get me wrong, I hated the Potter-loving optimist as much as the next sane Slytherin, but he was always looking for the good in me, even though he _knew_ I had become one of the Dark Lord's followers. He respected me more than my own father ever had, so when it came down to the crunch, I caved in.

Biggest. Freaking. Mistake. Never show weakness, because He _will_ find out. And He will torture the weakness out of you.

After what I refer to as "My life's shitty-est screw-up", I expected to be neglected from any further missions from Him, and I was glad. The stress that they entail is ridiculously glossed over. Another two months in that train-wreck state would have done my head in and earned me a bed in St. Mungo's. I was willing to just be a spectator in this whole war and hope that no-one too important died. But this morning found a summons under my door which could only mean one of two things: punishment for my failure, or I'd been given another mission. So here I am, in my family's parlour, awaiting Voldemort's presence. The large, obsidian Grandfather clock to my left struck midnight, and the signalling of the passing hour made the sudden drop in temperature that little bit more chilling. The Dark Lord always did like theatrics.

I sucked in a sharp breath as a thick smoke billowed in through the open balcony doors and collected in front of me, forming a smoky and foreboding figure. As the shape became more defined and tangible, it emitted a cold, spine-chilling laugh. The smell of death and decay slowly crept through the room, entering my nose and making the bile rise up in my throat. I subtly swallowed as the smoke materialised into the cloaked body of Lord Voldemort.

The snake around my shoulders hissed with excitement and shifted so that she could see her master. In doing that, the bloody creature half-crushed my windpipe, but I couldn't lift my hands to pull the snake off. I was too terrified. Usually snakes wouldn't bother me in the slightest, but given the shit circumstances I was in, the snake around my neck made my skin crawl. And I was pretty sure that I'd be dead before I could touch the creature. Voldemont was always protective of Nagini, so my bet was I'd be _avada kedavra_'d before I could lift my hand. But, there was _something_ else. I didn't know what, but there was something about Voldemort's expression that told me that something was off. I swallowed.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," he hissed, his voice sending shivers up my spine as he started pacing around me, inspecting me. At this point I was acutely aware of the fact that Voldemort's wand had now appeared in his hand. I could feel his icy gaze on me as he continued. "I have a job for you."

Oh, fuck no. I think that was the moment that I realised I'd been hoping for punishment. At least it'd be over with eventually. But this...

I had a major internal battle inside my head. To go along as expected or do what I want? I hated looking like a pussy, but I'd rather save my ass now instead of getting sucked in and unable to break off. I broke out of my trance and took a terrified step backwards. No. I won't go through that mind-fuck again. I absolutely _refuse_. I started shaking my head, unsettling the snake wrapped around my shoulders and making her fall to the carpet with a soft thud. As fast as lightning, my jaw was clenched in Voldemort's iron grip and his face was inches from my own, forcing me to look in his eyes. I held the contact for a few seconds before dropping my gaze.

"Coward," he spat. "You _will_ do what I tell you, or you and your family will pay the toll." I couldn't move my head so I locked eyes with him once more and gave him a defeated stare. Voldemort was the one person, besides my mother, that I wouldn't dare put the "cocky prick" facade on in front of. Better show him how you really feel than letting him misinterpret stubbornness for disloyalty.

He released my jaw when he saw my gaze, his nails grazing my cheeks. "There. That wasn't so hard now, was it?" He pushed me backwards, making me lose my balance, but before I could hit the floor, a wooden seat appeared and I crashed down onto it. I think it would have hurt less to hit the floor. He started circling me again.

"Now Draco," he hissed in my ear, coming up from behind me. "This mission is not optional and _cannot _be failed. You are the only person who fits the part in the plan, and your father has already accepted it for you. I'm just giving you the courtesy of knowing what's going on, not that you deserve it." I hate my father. I hate that he still believes he has control over me. I lift my gaze to the window before me and hid the rush of emotion behind my signature mask of indifference. The Dark Lord continued.

"I am not invincible, though it may seem so, and before Dumbledore was killed – no thanks to you – he discovered my one weakness. The way that I have stayed alive. I believe that he has passed this information to Potter, and if this is so, extra precautions must be made." I couldn't understand where He was going with this or how this was even remotely relevant to me. "In the event that I die, which _will _happen sometime during your lifetime, there must be an heir to my empire to take control. This person must be young so they are not outlived by me, and they must be linked by blood to me in some way." I realised that I had been holding my breath. I exhaled in relief, knowing I could not fit that last criteria.

"So, I'm to help you search, my lord?" I asked, hoping he'd hurry up and enlighten me. My guess was met with laughter.

"I looked through my bloodlines for a suitable heir. When I looked back far enough, my bloodlines crossed with your family's."... What? I was the youngest of my family, but... Fuck, did that mean...? Oh. _**Oh! **_I couldn't speak, so Voldemort continued.

"Hold out your arm."

I lifted my left arm, and He pulled the sleeve back, exposing the mark that I received earlier that year. Raising his wand, Voldemort pressed the tip onto the mark and started melodically chanting, repeating a phrase over and over again. I attempted to figure out what spell he was casting, but my attention was suddenly drawn to a sharp burst of pain in my arm. I gasped and cast my pained gaze over to my mark to find it had been altered. The black mark had been detailed in silver, adding to the image so much that it gave the illusion that it was three-dimensional and the skull now had red eyes. Blood red eyes. As much as it hurt, I couldn't help but be transfixed by the beauty that the mark suddenly acquired. As Voldemort's chanting ceased, he removed his wand from my skin and the pain subsided. I looked up at him, dazed and confused.

"In the event that I die, nothing would happen to you immediately," he said. "After a certain amount of time, the mark will begin to alter your body, giving you abilities that you could only dream of. In due time, you will be like me. Powerful beyond anything the world has ever seen and one of the most feared people in the universe."

I was still blanking. I couldn't even form coherent thoughts, let alone words. It was like one of Finnigan's potions exploded in my head. Me? Most feared in the universe? Powerful beyond imagining? Become like Voldemort? At first the thought excited me, and thoughts of all the people I could punish came flowing into my head. My father, Potter, Weasley, Dolahov, Lupin, the bumbling oaf Hagrid, Mundungus Fletcher... the list was endless. But, slowly, the full force of my situation hit me.

This would mean that I'd be as paranoid as ever, constantly making plans and never trusting anyone. This would mean I'd look like Voldemort! As shallow as it sounds, I know I've been gifted with good looks. Before all this rubbish, girls would swoon as I walked past in the hallway. I couldn't lose that!

And...

This would mean killing countless innocents, both magical and muggle, for no good reason. As much as everyone seems to think I do, I don't actually want to kill every muggleborn I look at. I mean, yeah, when I was twelve I did, but that was because that was all I knew from my father's warped teaching. That being said, I still find muggles and muggle-borns uncomfortable to be around. It's become instinct to flinch away from those with non-pure heritage.

Movement within my vision bought me back to the present. Voldemort was starting to disapperate into the thick smog once more, but before he did, he left me these final words: "I chose you. I expect greatness from you. Do not make me regret this."

I bowed low, crouching on one knee and staring at my foot. When I looked up, the fog had disappeared, and all I was left with were that bastard's words spinning around in my head.

"Do not make me regret this."

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><p>So? Reviews and edits are much appreciated!<p> 


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